And Lyonel Rivers was the reason.

The morning light spilled through the narrow window of Lyonel’s chambers, pale and cold, painting strips of gold across the stone floor.

The air was sharp, biting, the scent of pine and frost seeping through the cracks in the walls. Lyonel sat at the small table, a half-eaten loaf of bread, his mind still lingering on the dream he’d woken from—Catelyn’s body beneath his, her moans echoing in his ears, the heat of her skin still burning against his.

A knock at the door shattered the silence.

"Enter," he called, his voice rough with sleep.

A servant stepped in, bowing low. "Ser Lyonel," the boy said, holding out a scroll sealed with the Stark sigil.

"A raven from Young Lord Robb."

Lyonel took it, breaking the seal with a sharp motion.

His eyes scanned the words, and for a moment, the world seemed to still.

"Ser Lyonel,

I return to Winterfell on the morrow after tomorrow. The road was long, but the men are in good spirits. You have my gratitude for holding the castle in my absence. Father speaks highly of your stewardship—it seems you have managed Winterfell as a true lord would. I look forward to seeing the fruits of your labor.

—Robb Stark"

Lyonel exhaled slowly, folding the parchment.

Two days.

Two days until Robb returned, until the facade he and Catelyn had built crumbled under the weight of duty and honor.

He stood, running a hand through his hair.

"Tell Ser Rodrik I wish to speak with him," he ordered the servant, who nodded and hurried away.

---

Ser Rodrik Cassel arrived shortly, his grizzled face set in a rare smile.

"You’ve done well, boy," the old knight said, clapping Lyonel on the shoulder.

"Robb’s letter was full of praise. Robert and Ned would be proud."

Lyonel nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. "I only did what was needed."

Rodrik chuckled. "Aye, and more. Winterfell hasn’t run this smoothly in years."

He paused, his expression sobering. "Just don’t let it go to your head, ser. Robb’s return means your time as castellan ends."

Lyonel felt the weight of the words.

"I understand."

Rodrik nodded, then turned to leave.

"Good man."

---

Lyonel returned to his chambers, his mind racing.

The door was ajar, and as he pushed it open, his breath caught.

Catelyn stood by the window, the morning light spilling over her like liquid gold.

She turned as he entered, her blue eyes meeting his, something unreadable burning in their depths.

"You received the raven," she said, her voice soft.

Lyonel nodded, stepping closer. "Robb returns in two days."

Catelyn exhaled slowly, her hands clasping before her. "Then our time is short."

Lyonel reached for her, pulling her against him. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice low.

She hesitated, then looked up at him, her eyes glistening. "I’m with child," she whispered.

The world seemed to still.

Lyonel’s grip tightened on her arms. "You’re certain?"

Catelyn nodded. "I haven’t bled since before the hunt. And I know my body, Lyonel."

She pressed a hand to her stomach, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It’s yours."

Lyonel exhaled sharply, his mind racing. A child.

His child.

Growing inside Catelyn Stark, Lady of Winterfell, wife of Eddard Stark.

"What do we do?" he asked, his voice rough.

Catelyn’s gaze never wavered. "We keep it secret," she said, her voice firm.

"No one will question if I pass it off as Ned’s. Who would dare doubt Catelyn Stark?"

She smirked, though there was no humor in it. "I am the most honorable lady in Westeros, remember?"

Lyonel chuckled, dark and disbelieving. "And Ned?"

"Ned is in King’s Landing," she said, her voice cold. "And when he returns, he will never know."

She stepped closer, her hand resting on his chest.

"This child is ours, Lyonel. And no one will ever take it from us."

Lyonel cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek.

"You realize what this means?" he murmured. "If Ned ever finds out—"

"He won’t," Catelyn interrupted, her voice sharp."

The words hit him like a blow. He didn’t speak.

Instead, he captured her mouth in a searing kiss, his hands tangling in her hair, pulling her flush against him.

She moaned into the kiss, her body melting against his, her hands clawing at his tunic.

"Gods, " he groaned, "what you do to me—"

Catelyn smirked, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

"Show me," she whispered.

---

Lyonel didn’t need to be told twice.

He kicked the door shut, his mouth crashing back onto hers as he pressed her against the wall.

His hands worked at the laces of her gown, stripping it from her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet.

Catelyn shivered as the cool air hit her bare skin, but the heat of Lyonel’s body quickly chased the chill away.

"You’re mine, " he growled, his mouth trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbones, before capturing a nipple between his lips.

Catelyn gasped, her head falling back against the wall, her fingers tangling in his hair.

"Yours, " she panted, "always."

---

He lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the bed.

Catelyn moaned as he laid her down, his body covering hers, his cock throbbing against her thigh.

She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his length, stroking him slowly.

"Fuck, " Lyonel hissed, his hips twitching into her touch.

"You drive me mad."

Catelyn grinned, guiding him to her entrance.

"Then take me," she whispered.

And he did.

---

The afternoon sun spilled through the window as they lay entangled, breathless, sweaty, their bodies humming with the aftermath of pleasure.

Catelyn traced idle patterns on his chest, her mind racing with the implications of what they’d done—what they continued to do.

But for now, in this moment, there was only him.

And that was enough.

---

The morning sun rose over Winterfell, casting long, golden shadows across the courtyard as the gates groaned open.

The sound of hooves echoed through the stone walls, the clatter of armor and the low murmur of men filling the air.

Robb Stark rode at the head of the column, his red-brown hair tousled from the wind, his blue eyes sharp and alert.

Beside him, Theon Greyjoy grinned, his dark hair wild, his expression cocky as ever.

The Stark bannermen followed, their faces set with relief and pride as they returned home.

Lyonel stood in the courtyard, Lionmane strapped to his back, his arms crossed as he watched them approach.

The past eight and a half moons had passed in a blur of duty, secrets, and stolen moments—but now, the time had come to return to King’s Landing.

The weight of what he was leaving behind settled in his chest, a heavy, unspoken burden.

Robb dismounted first, striding toward Lyonel with a grateful smile.

"Ser Lyonel," he said, clasping his forearm.

"Winterfell stands strong thanks to you."

Lyonel nodded, returning the grip.

"It was my duty, my lord."

"More than that," Robb replied, his voice firm.

"You’ve held this castle as if it were your own. My father will hear of it."

Lyonel exhaled slowly. "I only did what was needed."

Theon sauntered over, clapping Lyonel on the shoulder. "And now you ride south, back to the king’s side."

He grinned. "Hope you don’t miss us too much, Rivers."

Lyonel smirked. "I’ll manage."

---

Later, in the quiet of the godswood, Catelyn found him.

The air was cool, the scent of earth and old magic thick around them.

She stood before him, her blue eyes glistening in the dim light, her hands clasped before her.

"You’re leaving," she said, her voice soft, though it held no question.

Lyonel nodded. "Robb has returned. My duty here is done."

Catelyn exhaled, her gaze dropping to the ground before meeting his again. "And what of us?"

Lyonel stepped closer, his voice low. "We keep our secret."

His hand found hers, squeezing gently. "No one must know."

She nodded, though her eyes betrayed the pain of the parting. "And the child?"

"Will be Ned’s, " he said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "As we planned."

Catelyn bit her lip, her gaze searching his. "I will miss you."

Lyonel cupped her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheek.

"And I you."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. "But this is not the end."

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "Promise me."

"I promise," he murmured, before capturing her lips in a final, lingering kiss.

---

The next morning, Lyonel stood in the courtyard, Ashford saddled and ready.

Robb and Theon were there to see him off, along with Ser Rodrik and a handful of Stark guards.

"Ride safe, Ser Lyonel," Robb said, clasping his forearm once more.

"King’s Landing awaits."

"And Winterfell remains in good hands," Lyonel replied.

Theon grinned. "Don’t let the Queen bite your head off the moment you return."

Lyonel chuckled. "I’ll try not to give her the chance."

With a final nod, he mounted Ashford, the stallion snorting as he turned toward the gates.

He didn’t look back.

The gates of Winterfell groaned shut behind him as he rode south, the wind whipping through his hair, the road ahead long and uncertain.

But eight and a half moons ago, he had ridden north a different man.